


Why

by aingealcethlenn



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Loss of Parent(s), Regret, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aingealcethlenn/pseuds/aingealcethlenn
Summary: A rough night of memories, Rhionnan lets her guard down for the first time in a very long time, thinking no one would find out. But that wasn’t the case.





	Why

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So...This wasn’t going to be posted. It was written to try to ease my mind. BUT, my sister convinced me to finish it & stuff, so I did. And it was crap, so she worked her magic, capturing me perfectly..which is a little scary LOL, and made it so magnificent that it made me cry! (honest! it did!). 
> 
> Word Count - 2,258

While sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the television, I could hear the other Saint Paddy’s Day parties thrum around the city below.  
My legs were crossed under me, with Bucky’s sweatshirt wrapped tightly around my body. I watch as the little leprechauns dance on the screen of my television.

It may sound fucking weird, but the longer I looked at those little fuckers, tears began to sting my eyes and nose.

Maybe it was the Jameson sitting on the coffee table, I don’t know.  
Nursing a small glass one too many times always brought me to tears on days like this…  
Me, sitting on my own legs, sipping from the cup in my hand, half full of the whiskey… trying to will the tears away.

The rest of the tower had all gone to their rooms about an hour ago. I had made sure that they were all gone before I made my way to the common room.

Though… it felt more like a trance. I had Buck’s sweatshirt on with the bottle and movie in my hands. I put the movie’s disk in the player, and turned it on before grabbing a glass from the kitchen.  
Once I got comfortable on the couch, and poured my first shot, I lifted my glass, staring blankly out the window to the dark sky above.

“Lá fhéile Pádraig sona dhuit,” I mumbled to myself, taking the shot quickly.  
I swallowed slowly.

It always felt cathartic to force the liquid to slow down as it made its way down my throat.

Now, here I sit, a fair bit into the movie, and I… I am next to blackout drunk.

I had no idea what was going on. Other than I had _definitely_ had more than one shot. Knowing the movie like the back of my hand, I knew how long I must have been sitting, but my head was… somewhere else.  
Call it an _out of body experience_.

I felt my hazy brain turn on the rose colored glasses… I felt and remembered the emotions I felt when I was just an eight-year-old watching the television with my dad behind me. A hand on my shoulder as we watched it together.

Curled up, with a dazed smile on my face, I started paying more attention to the screen, as if something new might appear.

It had been the same way every single year… March 17th rolled around, dad would buy a bottle of whiskey, take a single shot, and give away the rest to a friend.

The man _hated_ whiskey.  
But tradition was tradition.

We’d sit on the couch, and watch movies like this all day. Usually, it was whatever we could find, but it was always a guarantee that _Darby O’Gill_ would grace the screen. **  
**

So there I was, watching that beautiful movie, but instead of a simple shot, I was drinking the entire bottle of that _damn_ whiskey.

Why?

Because it was the only damn thing that could get my sorry ass through this holiday anymore.

The one time I could be close to my dad despite the… _distance_.

My mind had already taken me back to when I was younger, watching with my dad.  
Listening to him say the lines in that _perfect_ Irish brogue.  
Singing the songs along with the television… Or even rambling on about different things, like telling me what a _banshee_ was.

Sure, I’d heard it all before… but why would I deprive us of the tradition?  
No matter how I wanted to fill in details that he either forgot or glossed over, I would always lap it up like it was brand new.

I couldn’t ignore the happiness I felt from being so drunk that I could actually hear his voice as I sat alone.

I hadn’t noticed anyone else enter the room.  
I was lost in my own world; tears falling silently, sipping on whiskey, lost in my _fantasy_.  
It wasn’t until I felt the surprising yet familiar cold of his metal arm wrap around me that I even realized someone had been trying to talk to me.

Looking over into those damned concerned blue eyes, I shook my head clear of my haze and snapped myself back to reality.

“B-Bucky,” I mumbled, my voice weak, slurred, and still a little confused.

“What’s wrong, Rhi?” I heard him ask.  
The concern was evident in his voice.

Bucky had never seen any… _hint_ of emotion like… _this_. From _me_.

Hell, none of these avenging bastards had.  
 ****To them, I was _strong_.  
To me… I was _frail_.

Sure, I had _emotions_. Everyone does.

But no one had ever seen me weep like a baby. _No one_ had. It wasn’t something I _ever_ did.

I _couldn’t_.

Tears, meant weakness. If not to anyone else; to me.

I had to stay strong.  
Everyone counted on me for _something_ or another.  
Family, friends - hell - even the general population looked to me, and the rest of the Avengers, in times of crisis.

I needed to stay strong for everyone else. Screw **_me_** having a moment of slack…

I didn’t have _time_ to back off.  
I didn’t have time to _break down_.

I guess this could possibly mean I had never given myself a chance to grieve…

Sure, I may have done it _my way_ , but it wasn’t the _right way_. Wasn’t _complete_.

I must have been silent too long, because Bucky gently but forcibly took the glass from my hand, setting it on the table next to the now nearly empty bottle.  
Pulling me into his chest, he just held me.

I didn’t know I was still crying until I noticed Bucky’s warm chest was wet and uncomfortable against my cheek from my own tears soaking in his shirt.

Feeling immediately ashamed and guilty, I wanted to move away from him, but I felt fatigued when my eyes fixed on the TV again.

“Rhionnan?”

I shook my head ever so slightly against his collarbone. Waking myself from my odd trance.

“Why does it still hurt so much, Bucky?” I heard myself ask; my voice weak, shaky, and… resigned.  
“After _five years_ , please,” I whimpered. “Explain to me why it still hurts?”

“ _What_ hurts, doll?” He murmured into my hair. “How can I help?”  
His voice was still laced with concern, though he was trying to hide it.

From my position, I had to look up at him through my lashes, but I _needed_ to look at him.

I had seen Bucky scared before… but this was different.

His eyes shown with a mix of emotions I’d never seen from him before.  
Fear, concern, sympathy, pain…

I’d never told anyone about my past.  
Nothing that wasn’t already in my file, anyway.

I’d never talked about my family - my siblings or my parents - because though I trusted these people with my own life, I didn’t want to burden them with the knowledge of my personal life.

“What happened, doll,” he mumbled lowly but warmly. The way he usually spoke.  
His voice was home for me.  
“What’s got you so–”

“–Weak? _Broken_?” I offered indignantly.  
I sat up slightly, still leaning against him, my head now on his shoulder.

“No,” he objected, slightly surprised. “I don’t see _either_ of those right now, or ever.” His voice had softened by the end of his objection.  
I felt his lips press against the top of my forehead.  
“Talk to me Rhi,” he said with a steadfast nod. “What happened?”

“Five years ago,” I said after a long pause and a deep sigh. The whiskey was leaving my system so fast, and I could just _feel_ my heart return to its natural resting heartbeat. “Five years ago was the last time I celebrated this _stupid holiday_ with my father,” I mumbled petulantly (not all the drunkenness had worn off). “A mere four months later was the last time I ever heard his voice.”

My voice had cracked and I felt the water in my eyes give way again, soaking through yet another spot on Bucky’s shirt. My head was throbbing, though I don’t know which made it worse, the alcohol or the crying.

“Two months later, he was gone. I never saw him. Never went to see him in the hospital, never called him on the phone again, nothing,” I said.  
“ _Instead_ , I offered to stay at the house and watch all the little kids while everyone else went to be with him.”

Bucky was silent.

Upon a quick and fleeting glance at his face, I could see it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.  
Not a _‘I wish you didn’t tell me this’_ silence.

In fact, from the look on his sharply angled face he wanted desperately to say something comforting.

I could tell that the words eluded him. I could understand that.

He silently pressed a kiss to my hair and pulled me into a tighter embrace.

“When I got the call, I just…” my voice cracked _again_ , “ _nodded_ … and _hung u_ p. I made the calls to family…  since I was the _only one who could actually still speak…_ I then helped with arrangements… because I could _keep my composure_.”

I shook my head vehemently, settling my face in my hands. “I couldn’t show how bad it… how bad it _hurt_. Everyone needed someone who was holding it together to turn to.”

“And… that was you,” he mumbled, his breath hitting my neck.

“Yep,” I mumbled into my hands, rubbing my stale eyes. “Though I was the one who lost the most. I still knew that I couldn’t break down. I just… I just _couldn’t_.”

“That’s why you never seem phased by anything during missions, isn’t it?” Bucky’s voice was still low and rough despite everything. “You think we all need someone to keep us afloat when things go wrong…” Bucky mused. “Or why you’re always the first one I see when I wake up from a nightmare? You’re trying to be everyone else’s foundation, while your own crumbles.”

“When you say it like that it sounds horrible.” I said, trying to laugh a little through the tears, but it just came off as pathetic and… _sad_.

“You think no one sees that chip on your shoulder…” Bucky mumbled to himself. “It doesn’t make you _weak_ or anything else. You can’t just keep it all… _bottled up_ inside of you.  Aren’t you tired of having to stand so tall?”

I sat up and looked into his eyes with a cold stare. “I break down every once in awhile,” I defended petulantly. “It’s just behind closed doors, screaming into my pillow, so none of _you_ can fucking _hear me_.”

“Doll… “ He smiled a small smile before pulling me back to him. “That’s not _exactly_ what I meant.”

“Bucky, it’s just not the way I am,” I retorted. “I can’t show that to anyone. I've… I guess I’ve convinced myself that it’s wrong.” **  
**

I took a deep, haggard sigh and I could smell the whiskey on my own breath.

“Hell,” I grumbled. “You’re literally the first one who’s seen this side of me. Probably _ever_. And the only reason you did, was because I was so out of it… and, well, _drunk_ … I didn’t hear you come in the room.”

“Well,” Bucky replied softly, seriously. “You should trust me enough to see it again… Let me be the one to catch you when you fall.”

“Buck I–”

“You’ve been a solid rock for me since I arrived, Rhionnan. Let me return the favor, huh?”

I tilted my head and looked up at him for a very serious and long moment.  
“Only if you promise to never say a word about it to _anyone_ ,” I conceded.

“Deal,” he murmured resolutely, kissing my forehead again. “Now, let’s get you to bed. It’s late.”

“Can we watch the movie just one more time?” I asked suddenly, catching his arm before he detached himself from me. **  
**

“Sure, doll,” he said with a wide and brilliant smile - the one that mostly shone in his eyes more than his lips… “Anything for you.”  
He reached for the remote on the table, and restarted the movie.

I sat up so he could lay across the couch, settling myself between his legs. Resting my head back against his chest, I took a deep breath, unabashedly taking in his scent.  
Feeling my body relax, I nuzzled as close as I could.

Bucky wrapped his arms around my shoulders easily, and placed another gentle kiss against my hair. Smiling as he felt me relaxing against him.

I closed my eyes, and let this new feeling take me over. The feeling of contentment, the feeling of safety… the feeling of _home_.

* * *

 

The next morning, Steve walked into the common room looking for Bucky. Finding the both of us on the couch, he gently tapped Bucky’s shoulder.

“Buck?”

I felt him shift behind me, but not enough to wake me completely. His arms tightened around me, and I relaxed again.

“Yeah?”  
He looked up at Steve, still half asleep.

“Everything okay?”

“Everythings fine, but I think I’m gonna skip our run today,” he replied with a croaky and quiet chuckle.

“That’s fine,” Steve responded, glancing at my still body, still wrapped in Bucky’s sweatshirt. Steve nodded toward me, asking carefully, “Is she okay?”

“She is now, I think,” Bucky responded, shifting me so he could properly look up at Steve.

“Good,” Steve nodded slightly. “She needs you Buck. Take care of her.”

“Til the end of the line,” Bucky murmured sleepily, grinning knowingly up at Steve.


End file.
